


Everything

by embarrassing old stuff from LJ pre-2015 (prevaricator)



Category: NewS (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-15 12:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prevaricator/pseuds/embarrassing%20old%20stuff%20from%20LJ%20pre-2015
Summary: Koyama loves his job, but he was never cut out for having to hide his relationships.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Repost from LJ.

**Title:** Everything  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairing:** Koyama/Shige  
**Warnings:** Angsty, slice of life  
**Word Count:** 1317  
**Summary:** Koyama loves his job, but he was never cut out for having to hide his relationships.

 

  
“How was your day?” Shige asks.

Koyama smiles as he hangs up his jacket and loosens his tie. “It was good! I got to report on a preschool.”

“Lucky you,” Shige says, voice too flat for serious congratulation and not flat enough for sarcasm; Koyama figures it's probably both.

“They were cute! I don't know why you don't like kids.”

Uncomfortable enough that he wants to change but also half-starved, Koyama settles for tossing his shirt in the hamper and cooking in his undershirt and dress pants. Cooking is the last thing he wants to do after traveling to Hiroshima and back in the space of a day, but eating out would have meant less Shige time. Setting the phone on the counter, he stares into his refrigerator, eventually settling on ramen and salad.

“They're cute, but I don't know what to do with them,” Shige says, tinny voice rattling through the phone's sad little speaker. “And they're gross.”

“Well, it's your loss.”

As he starts to chop vegetables while elaborating on his day, Koyama counts up the seconds until Shige complains about the noise. They both know that Shige would prefer to have his conversations with Koyama interrupted by a bit of vegetable chopping than for them not to happen at all, but it wouldn't be Shige if he didn't say something.

It takes a whole minute before it happens. “Do you have to do that while you're talking to me?”

“Well, unless you want to come over here and cook me something,” Koyama fake hints. It's meant to be teasing, but Shige sighs.

“You know how much I wish I could,” he says. After a brief pause he musters up a cheerier voice and continues, “After all, I did make the most _delicious_ ginger pork earlier. It was a million times better than whatever you're cooking now.”

Koyama's stomach growls. “Jerk.”

They chat for a while longer, long after Koyama has finished eating his meal, until Shige declares that he needs to get back to writing.

When the phone cuts off, the apartment is deafeningly silent. Just to drown out the quiet, Koyama turns on his TV with the volume as low as he can bear while he washes the dishes. It's almost midnight, and he feels a little guilty for using the TV at all. He tries to pay attention to it to distract himself from the mini temper tantrum he wants to throw at Shige for ditching him to go write a book. But he's landed on a drama about a couple who've lived with each other for five years and are thoroughly sick of each other, and he finds himself wondering if he would be bored with Shige if they'd been living together for the past five years. He envies this television couple the chance to find out.

Koyama loves his job. He gets to meet tons of amazing people, bask in the love of thousands of fans, and spend most of his working life with three people he really likes. But as he showers and climbs into an empty bed, he wonders if it's really worth the limits on his personal life.

He remembers the joy he felt six years ago, the first time he and Shige kissed. It was as awkward as any first kiss, but it was also the most perfect moment of his life. His heart felt like it was going to fly away.

Now he lies in bed, every inch of him needing someone to hold. Not sex, just physical companionship. If he could just live with Shige, it wouldn't matter if Shige wanted to spend the whole night writing—they could sit on the couch and he could snuggle up against Shige's side and doze, maybe tease him to make him regret his idiotic decision to pay more attention to his computer than to Koyama.

Instead he's left with sending sad brainwaves in Shige's direction. It's not Shige's fault that they can't live together, but it's all too easy to blame everything on him. For a moment, Koyama daydreams of not talking to Shige all day tomorrow for revenge for tonight's conversation ender.

But he knows he could never do that. Tomorrow, he'll get to work and see Shige and be too damn happy about it to do anything but follow him around all day and try not to be too obvious about clinging, because he still feels that same super happy fluttery feeling he got when it was still an unconfessed crush every time he sees Shige.

 

 

 

The skin of Shige's shoulder is salty under Koyama's lips but no longer damp. Loath to fall asleep, Koyama traces his lips down to the nape of Shige's neck, just below his hair, and slides an arm over his waist.

“I'm tired,” Shige says, but he turns over and presses his face under Koyama's chin.

“I don't get to hold you enough.” Koyama wraps a leg over Shige's to get closer.

Hawaii spoiled him with too much time for cuddling. Their approximately-weekly sleepover time has always almost invariably been focused on relieving the sexual frustration that's built up over days of nothing. He'd thought a few days of being able to spend as long as they wanted in bed would get the snuggle cravings out of his system, but instead it only made them worse.

Shige plants a soft kiss on Koyama's Adam's apple. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Koyama says. “I just want you to let me snuggle for a while.”

“Oh.”

A while later, when he can feel Shige's breathing has slowed enough that he might be asleep, Koyama says, “TegoMasu would be fine without us, you know.”

The rise and fall of Shige's stomach under Koyama's arm stops for a moment.

“Would we?”

If they thought they would, there wouldn't be a problem. Koyama bites his lip and says nothing.

“Do you think we'd ever have been in love if it weren't for NEWS?”

There's nothing more than idle pondering to Shige's question, but Koyama's heart races for a moment. Then he smiles.

“Of course we would. I'd be working some boring sales job and you'd be stressed out over your lawyer career and working too many hours to even think about pursuing your writing dream, and we'd bond over ramen at my mom's place and live vicariously through each other.”

Shige's stomach twitches under Koyama's arm, and then he's squirming up in bed to kiss him before pulling back with a smile.

“Would you react to all my lawyer stories like you do to your news every. subjects?” Mimicking Koyama in a recent news shot, he flaps an arm and says, “Flying fish really have wings!”

Koyama swats his arm down. “Sure, whatever.”

It's not the first time they've had one of these conversations, and it won't be the last. In the morning, Koyama's heart breaks as he steps out the door, the same way it has every time he's done the same thing for the past six years.

 

 

 

Two days later, he boards the bullet train to Osaka for more filming and pops on his headphones, nearly jumping out of his skin when he hits play on his phone and Shige's voice filters into his ears.

“Hey, I know you're upset that I'm working on my book instead of talking to you. And I know we probably won't get a chance to talk today, so here goes.

“This is a Koyama's-phone exclusive sneak peak of a new Kato Shigeaki short story, a tale of two people who can't quite have everything they want...”

As Shige's husky voice starts reading a story, Koyama turns his face toward the window and closes his eyes.


End file.
